But all around was strangely quiet.
Ken began to feel a trifle uneasy. He realised that they had got a long
way ahead of their comrades, and that the latter had already been
recalled.
'Quite nice and peaceful up here, eh, Ken?' said Roy with his cheerful
grin.
Before Ken could reply there came a shot from somewhere quite close at
hand, and with a sharp cry Ken dropped his rifle.
'Winged, old chap?' said Roy, turning quickly.
As he did so Kemp made a dash, and hurled himself up the slope to the
left.
'Never mind me!' cried Ken. 'Catch Kemp. Shoot him. Stop him anyhow.'
Roy flung up his rifle and took a snap shot.
He missed, and before he could pull the trigger a second time, the
ex-steward had dived like a weasel into a clump of scrub and was gone.
Roy dashed up the bank in hot pursuit. The moment he showed himself a
regular volley of rifle shots rang out, and spinning round he sprang back
into the hollow.
'There's about twenty Turks coming hard up the next gully,' he panted.
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